


Of the Sun, His Moon, and the Eclipse.

by werewolve



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Extended Metaphors, Geralt as the Moon, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier as the Sun, Just a whole lotta imagery, M/M, OKAY ENOUGH TAGS, Other, Poetic, Prose Poem, sun and moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolve/pseuds/werewolve
Summary: Jaskier is the Sun by which Geralt exists, Geralt is the Moon for whom the day must follow. They're celestial soulmates, doomed for eternity.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	Of the Sun, His Moon, and the Eclipse.

The sun rose in the East as always. His freckled skin aglow against the backdrop of the fading night sky. He stretched; a long and comfortable motion, one to touch the stars and kiss the morning with his fingertips. 

In his presence, everything seemed peaceful; more jovial. Jaskier, a name given to him for the flower of his attributed colour, was in every place there was light. He resided in the beams that broke through the forest canopy; in the burn of a fire on a cold winter's evening; in the flicker of a candle that sat beside a lovers bed. In his waking, the howl of the White Wolf made way for the song of the Horned Lark. He filled the air with a blissful tune, and filled each person's heart with the knowledge of the dance that matched. In him, all seemed well. Days were longer, nights warmer, seasons more fruitful than ever. 

In him there was chaos unmatched by anything else. He contained all that the earth around him needed to thrive; he was the last secret to life, the first sign of death. To all that saw the light he was something different, and yet to all he remained unchanging. 

His journey each day remained just as linear. East to West he travelled, carrying with him the promise of delight. He walked amongst the grass and it stood taller, flowers bloomed at his feet. He walked and beauty followed. He walked in search of the moon, that beautiful garroter, that beast that snuffed his advances each and every day. For all time he had followed Geralt’s path, his yellow painting the sky like a map which no others could see. Jaskier was a great, bold thing. He was a thing to be revered and cursed all at the same time, a thing so pulsing with love and yet so envious of the loved. 

In the West, he would always trip. A stumbling, tumbling motion that awoke the moon and set it storming. That wild thing shoved himself up; a strong and pulling motion, one to move the tides and shake the night loose with his palm. 

In his presence, everything seemed harrowing; more frightening. Geralt, a lone and snow furred wolf, was the very darkness itself. He was that shadow which held so many secrets; that place in which nothing grew; that cold which crept, and crept, and isolated all it touched. In his waking, Jaskier would press a soft kiss to his cheek, run a thumb along his forehead. He shook beneath the sun’s touch, and it filled his heart with the knowledge of his own journey. In him, all was unknown. Nights dragged, days were forgotten, seasons became an excuse to stay indoors.

In him there was a calm unmatched by anything else. He contained all that was cardinal, emotional; he was the secret whispered in a memory, the everything afterwards. To all that met the dark he was nothing different, and yet to all he remained a mystery. 

His journey followed his lovers path. East to West he trudged, carrying with him the knowledge of that which ached and pained. He walked amongst the water and it crashed against his calves, fog lay heavy at his feet. He walked and desire followed. He walked to leave the sun, that divine poet, that fruit that gave his tree its purpose. For all time he had run from Jaskier, his black erasing all that it touched. Geralt was a lonely, reserved thing. He was a thing to be hated and adored all at the same time, a thing so devoid of love and yet seeping at every crater with the sickly sweet ooze of being loved. 

The Sun and the Moon were destined lovers since the dawn of time. Where one went the other followed. Without darkness there would be no room for light, and without light there would be nothing for darkness to reclaim. 

They were destined lovers, and destined bachelors. 

Never would they meet for long, never could they remain in each others grasp.

For an eclipse is a devastating thing to us, but to them, it is a wedding.

**Author's Note:**

> Absolute credit for this fic must go to Kieren for the initial idea, and to Liv for hyping me up enough to follow through with actually writing this.


End file.
